Boxing Champ Out Of Jail And In the Ring - By JJ Velasquez

Kurtiss Colvin is on his way to becoming a nationally ranked amateur boxing champion this week. He still remembers when he was nicknamed Lucky. It was a name that eventually proved ironic.

In high school, the moniker suited Kurtiss, a charmed kid and McCallum High School star athlete who was on his way to boxing glory.

But behind bars the nickname got old quickly. There, they called him Boxer.
Kurtiss, cramped into a 9-by-7-foot jail cell for most of 2007 and 2008, didn’t know who he was anymore. But he knew he wasn’t a killer.

Kurtiss spent the time on 23-hour lockdown, only allowed to leave his cell to shower. The shame, the fear and the sleepless nights drove him stir-crazy.

He had just returned from a counseling session to quell emotional and anger-management issues that his stay in prison had worsened. Suddenly, a news report blared from a television in the day room.

Kurtiss, kneeling at his bedside, listened from his cell. New charges had been brought against him.

There had been new developments in the case surrounding the beating death of an Austin man, a voice announced. He had been charged with capital murder stemming from the death of David Morales.

Kurtiss burst into tears. Capital murder is punishable by death. Desperate and still on his knees, he talked to God.

“If it’s your will, when I get out of this, I’ll remember this and never come back. But right now I’m dead. I’m dead to the world.”

Bleary-eyed from crying and severely sleep-deprived, he ripped a staple out of a booklet that he received in his mental-health class and carved into his right big toe. He watched a drop of blood splatter on the concrete floor. The bright crimson cut was in the shape of a toe tag.

He may as well have been in a morgue.

But not long after he started having strange dreams — epiphanies, he calls them.

Kurtiss didn’t get much sleep in his jail cell. He averaged four hours of sleep a night in prison, where he lay in a rock-solid concrete bed cushioned only by one body-length pillow. But that night he slept for eight hours. It was a good sleep. And his dream:

“Will the defendant please rise?”

“We find the defendant Kurtiss Colvin not guilty.”

Kurtiss woke up at 5 a.m. that morning. He had breakfast at 6 a.m. He smiled, recalling the good omen from the night before.

Months later he was no longer deemed a security risk and moved from solitary confinement into the general population, where he was allowed more time out of his cell.

One day a commercial caught his attention. It was an ad for Agape Christian Ministries.

The flat-screen TV projected an image of a boxer as the announcer of the commercial plugged the ministry’s boxing classes. Kurtiss missed being in the ring.

“If I ever get out of here,” Kurtiss said. “I promise I’m gonna go there and see what it’s all about.”

Kurtiss began his athletic career in high school. His track prowess at McCallum eventually earned him a scholarship to the University of Kansas.

He was flashy, confident, even cocky.

In 2006, he switched sports. He left Lawrence, Kan., to begin an amateur boxing career.

He found quick success, winning the middleweight title in the novice division of the regional Golden Gloves tournament. Not long after, he was turning down pro contract offers.

They called him “King Cobra” in the ring for his snappy but cerebral style. Outside the ring, Kurtiss was upbeat and talkative, remembers Rick Cantu, a sportswriter for the Austin American-Statesman who covered Kurtiss’ track career. Kurtiss remembers talking a lot about his Air Jordan and Air Force One sneakers. He had 15 pairs, most of which he lost when he went to prison.

Kurtiss had a knack for details. He remembers the night of June 19, 2007, lucidly.

It was Juneteenth, the annual commemoration of the day Texas slaves learned of their emancipation. Kurtiss was sitting at home when he got a call from Jervis Taylor, the younger brother of his girlfriend, Rajeanea Thomas. Jervis and his friend Sammy Byrd had gotten into an argument in East Austin, Kurtiss said. He met up with them and put an end to their fight.

As he was leaving, a 1976 candy-apple red droptop pulled up. The driver, Willie Warren, and his passengers, Charles Bernard Davis and Brandon Cleveland, told him to hop in.

They rolled through the crowded streets with music blasting.

They pulled up to Thompson Street in East Austin, where Kurtiss exited the car.
A couple of girls ran up to Kurtiss and shouted, “Mikey’s been hit.”

He arrived to a scene where he found Mikey, a toddler, prostrate on the ground. The boy had been struck by a driver who was weaving through pedestrians celebrating Juneteenth.

Kurtiss initially thought Mikey was dead.

He approached the driver of the car, Victor Medel, whom he told to wait for the cops.
David Morales, a resident of a nearby apartment complex, came to Medel’s defense and implored Kurtiss, along with a group of five to 20 others, to let him go.

“You need to chill. You need to tell your partner to give us the keys,” Kurtiss told Morales.

Meanwhile, a group of teenagers kicked and pounded on Medel’s car. One of the teens thought Morales was reaching for a gun.

“Man, what you reaching for?” Kurtiss remembers asking. Morales issued another warning, and the teenagers began to beat the driver’s car furiously.

When Morales reached for something in his back pocket, Kurtiss grabbed his right hand and struck him with an open fist, pushing him to the floor and causing both to stumble.

Kurtiss was afraid Morales would come up shooting, so he fled immediately.

It’s likely that a band of attackers beat Morales to death that night; his autopsy report revealed “several abrasions, a rib fracture, contusions, and a skull fracture.” A gun was not found on his person, according to an arrest affidavit, but it was later revealed he was carrying a large razor-like weapon.

Twelve days after the incident, Kurtiss was taken into custody. They held him on charges of manslaughter, theft and assault. The first charge stemmed from the blow he had delivered. He was also accused of rummaging through Morales’ wallet.

For 15 months, Kurtiss’ life hung in the balance. He didn’t know if he’d ever get out of jail, step in the ring again or see his daughter Kamari — who had been born, said her first word and took her first steps while he was in prison.

On Oct. 22, 2008, he awaited his sentencing. It was the scariest moment of his life, he said.

As he stood before the judge, he quivered and teared up.

He was found not guilty of manslaughter but received 10 years probation for assault.
Byrd, who had argued with Kurtiss’ brother-in-law earlier that Juneteenth night, later pleaded “true,” the equivalent of a guilty plea in a juvenile court, to delivering the fatal blow.

He received eight years probation for manslaughter.

Despite this, the court held Kurtiss responsible for paying the Morales family more than $15,000 for the cost of his death.

But he had his freedom back.

The night he was released he called Rajeanea and asked if he could see his daughter. When he arrived, 15-month-old Kamari lay asleep in her mother’s bed, her mouth slightly open. He crept close to her and whispered, “Daddy’s back, and I ain’t going nowhere. I’m sorry for leaving.”

Two days later, he kept the promise he made in prison and trekked to Agape Christian Ministries on Manchaca Lane. He had no gear and went in street clothes: a red muscle shirt, black basketball shorts and a pair of Air Jordan sneakers.

From November to March, Kurtiss focused on boxing with the help of Agape Christian Ministries trainer Ed Tijerina. In March, Kurtiss won the highest amateur boxing award in the state: the Golden Gloves title, awarded to the best amateur boxer by tournament.

This week he is competing for the national title. So far, he has won his bout against the titleholder from Iowa, Matt Schuh. He’s set to be ranked nationally, but Kurtiss aspires to be the world champion.

Kurtiss’ sneakers now conceal the scarred toe tag he once carved into his skin, but he chooses not to focus on that grim reminder of his dark days. In fact, a few week ago, Kurtiss got a new tattoo: Etched in black ink on his left bicep are the words “Justice Served.”